Katrinka and Blake
by Inudaughter Returns
Summary: The students of P.S. 118 do a lot of thinking when a girl from their school leaves on account of illness. Gerald does a lot of thinking, too, when a boy in a wheelchair joins their class. Can Gerald find a way to be friends with Blake? We hope he can. Is there something the class can do for poor, ill Katrinka? We'll find that out, too. (Katrinka is named in "Cool Party.")
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Why yes, this story might be a bit clique. It introduces characters who are sick and injured for diversity's sake. These things are real, too. Not all kids are hale and whole. And some sick and disabled kids I've known watch more television than healthy ones do. So I thought it a little unfair to leave them out of a show they like to watch. This line of reasoning really leads to Katrinka and Blake being 'obligatory characters' in the same vein of 'social correctness', but what the hay. I'm exploring the idea anyway. Is there an actual plot to this story? Not yet, but I'm thinking one up. If anyone has any suggestions for making these characters good, please send them my way. Another thing to note about this story is the main character isn't Arnold or Helga. It's Gerald. Thanks you all for your patience.**

"Say," Rhonda observed one day as she bit into her sandwich. She lifted her head slightly to observe the room. "What happened to Katrinka?" The girl seated across from her at the lunch table, Gloria, shrugged.

No one had seen Katrinka for weeks. Slowly, the realization of this filtered across the consciousness of the collective student body. First, her classmates like Peapod Kid and Gloria took note, then the kids from the classroom across the hall until everyone finished noticed and gossiped about it.

"Did she move away?" Stinky pondered from his seat on a bench.

"Could be!" Phoebe agreed. But as much as it was a discussed topic, no one really knew. No one really knew much about Katrinka, anyway. Rhonda had invited her to all of her parties, including her cool party, but they weren't exceptionally close. Then they heard news at last, from one of the most unlikely of places.

"The old dame is sick," said Big Gino slamming his locker door shut blowing his nose into a hanky. "Chronic illness."

"You and Katrinka are friends?" Rhonda wondered out loud from amidst a crowd of her fellow classmates. Big Gino had overheard them all speculating, apparently.

"Yeah, we went to the April Fool's dance together," remarked Big Gino. "The old dame had class. And a mean bunny hop."

"You say that like she's pushing up daisies," remarked Helga. She propped one hand against her hip and her brow furrowed.

"Yeah well, it's not as serious as all that but she's had to leave school for the hospital. For medical treatment. In a larger hospital far away."

"Gawsh," said Stinky Peterson, awestruck, again. "I never thought something would happen to one of us like that."

"People get sick all the time!" Helga corrected Stinky.

"But they don't just vanish for a month!" Arnold commented. "She must really be sick."

"So what are we supposed to do about it?"

"Well, I don't know. I've only spoken to Katrinka, well once. At least I think I did. It might have been another girl who left her change in the candy vending machine. And everything we've heard is rumors. We could ask her teacher if she knows anything about it," said Arnold before letting the subject drop.

The subject of Katrinka did not come up again until Gloria brought a get-well card from her class from across the hall for people of the entire grade to sign. It was made of posterboard but folded and decorated so that it did resemble a greeting card closely. Eugene reached down into his desk and with a quick flash of his fingers made a paper crane to go along with the greeting card. With a smile, Gloria glued it inside by one wing.

"Wow!" Gerald observed as he leant across his desk. "I had an operation once and I only missed a couple of days from school. That was terrible enough. But to have to leave school entirely? That's rough."

"Yeah, I'm glad I don't have to go through that."

"Me, neither," said Stinky.

"Me, neither!" Sid shouted from the back row in agreement. But the uncomfortable feeling that accompanies harsh truths soon swallowed the room, bringing all to silence. The last school bell rang in time, and students filed onto the bus.

"Hey, Eugene," said Arnold sitting down next to the red-haired boy. The bus was unusually cramped today and there were no double-seats available.

"Hi, Arnold!" Eugene chirped. "Why the long face?"

"Oh," said Arnold holding up a hand as he looked downcast. Even a stranger's plight had touched his tender heart. "I was just wondering if there was anything we should do for Katrinka. I didn't really know her or anything, but maybe I could say 'get well' somehow?"

"Oh, Arnold!" said Eugene with brightly humor. "Don't be sad! Maybe all she needs is a bit of rest. But wherever she is now, I'm sure she's doing her best to come back to us."

"Have you ever known someone sick before, Eugene?" Arnold asked Eugene as the boy continued to smile and sway back and forth as if to a cheerful melody only he could hear. As usual, Eugene's enthusiasm in the face of disaster was unchecked.

"Oh, yes! In the hospital while I was healing up from my frequent accidents, I've met many people who were sick. Some of them get well, some of them don't. And some people have to cope with their troubles for a lifetime. But that's the way it is, I guess. We're not guaranteed to be healthy or whole forever. But when we are healthy, gosh it's so great! Everyday I get to go out and see the world and experience it for myself- it's fantastic! It makes me think just how lucky I am!"

"Eugene's right, Arnold," Gerald Johanssen said loudly enough for both boys to hear. He had found a seat right across the aisle although he had to share it with an unfamiliar girl from the new sixth grade. But at least he got to sit near his friends on the crowded bus. "We all should count our blessings while we have them, as the saying goes. Not take anything for granted."

"Well," said Eugene digging into his backpack. "Would you like a nice healthful fruit drink? Sheena and I are working on a patent to start our own smoothie stand instead of a lemonade stand this year! Kale and dandelion root! It's good for you!"

"Er, no thanks," said Arnold waving a hand back and forth to keep the strange beverage away from him. If he was going to start a quest for a lifestyle that was more healthy, he wasn't about to start there.

Arnold got off the bus. But Gerald was in a hurry to get home so he rode it a little longer to be dropped off at his family's home. Gerald hustled in the door and dropped the books he was carrying on the table. His chore list was posted on the fridge and he was anxious to get to it before the end of the week, when his father would begin reminding Gerald in a loud and strong voice every five minutes that he had a deadline to do them. Or else he'd get spoken to and his father wouldn't give him a cent of allowance to spend. That would mean no arcade money, no movies, and no Yahoo soda for Gerald.

Gerald checked the list and started with the dishes in the sink. He sorted his laundry and for extra credit, the boy even took the kitchen trash out to the battered metal can perched beside their stoop. He even straightened up his room a little. Finished, Gerald slapped his hands together in satisfaction. Gerald was waiting in the kitchen for his father when he came home. He greeted his father with a wide grin.

"Hello, Gerald," his father said, staring at the boy as he set the newspaper under his arm on the surface of the dining room table. "Is there something you want to talk to me about, son?"

"Actually, as a matter of fact, there is!" Gerald beamed. He stood as proud and tall as he could. From behind his back he produced the chore list and presented it to his father. There were little check marks all down the page. "You'll be proud to know I've completed my chores for the week! Every single one of them!"

"Oh," said his father answering the unspoken question. "So I guess that means you'll be wanting your allowance. Well, it's payday so I guess today's a good time for it," said Martin Johanssen reaching down into his pocket to remove the billfold there. He cracked it open and took out a crisp, green bill. He handed this to Gerald.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes, please! Sir," Gerald amended as he gleefully collected his allowance.

"You're sure excited. Is there a movie you're looking forward to, son?" Gerald's father asked, calmly conversational as he loosened his tie a notch and reached into the fridge for a cool, after work beverage. He poured the box carton out into a glass on the table.

"There sure is!" answered Gerald. "Pop Daddy: the 3-D Movie! Is it okay if I use the phone to call Arnold? To discuss our Saturday?" Gerald announced in a building crescendo as if this Saturday would be his greatest outing ever.

"Okay," said Martin setting his cup down gently as he sat at the kitchen table. "Just try not to use too many minutes."

"Sure, sure," said Gerald. He hide his modest exasperation with his father's habitual stinginess by whirling away and sidling towards the phone as fast as he could. But before Gerald could reach the phone in the living room, the phone rang. Gerald stared at it in surprise for a moment. But then at its second ring, he picked up the telephone receiver.

"Hello?" Gerald inquired, prompting whoever it was on the other end of the line to speak. Gerald's eyes grew wide. "Yeah, yeah, hold on a sec. Dad?" Gerald said placing one hand flat against the base of the phone to block the sound of his voice. "It's for you." Martin Johanssen paced into the living room, a touch of curiosity on his face.

"Me? Yeah, I'll take that call." Martin's eyes grew wide as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone line talk. "I'm sorry son," Martin declared firmly. "Get your parka. Your phone call will have to wait until later." Somber, Gerald nodded his head.

Soon Gerald and his father waited just outside a hospital room to be admitted by the nurse. A male attendant let them in, bowing a hand with respect as he looked down at his clipboard. A friendly woman also stood by him with a smile.

"Mr. Martin Johanssen? Your son's woken up. He's suffered a minor concussion from his accident, but he should be okay. The hospital just wants to keep him a little longer for observation. He's suffered a broken wrist and a fractured finger, so he will need to wear a cast for a while. I take it you will be the one driving him home?"

"Yes," Martin answered gravely.

"Good. He shouldn't operate any machinery while taking the medications the doctor's prescribed. He needs to take it easy for a while."

"Well, if that's all," said Martin Johanssen with a great deal of pragmatism, "then we're fortunate. Thank you for taking good care of my son." The orderly smiled, then opened the door.

"Jamie O Johanssen? Your father and brother are here to see you," the orderly announced into the interior of the room.

Gerald hustled into the room with wide eyes and stood at his brother's bedside. Jamie O was a little worse for wear but he was awake. Gerald's brother wore a wide scowl across his face that lightened a little as he looked beyond his bedside into his little brother's eyes.

"Yo, little brother," he joked faking a grin. "Thanks for coming to see me. I look like I came out on the wrong side of a brawl, huh?"

"What happened to you, Jamie O?" Gerald stated bluntly.

"A little sports accident. It wouldn't be such a big deal except for I can't drive for a while. And then, oh dang!" said Gerald's brother sitting up in bed vehemently. "I totally will miss try-outs! I can't play with my hand messed up like this!" Jamie O knotted his fists into his hair in anguish.

"That's too bad, son," Martin Johanssen said in a firm tone that was almost a rebuke. "But the important thing is that you can come home safe with us. Maybe you can play next year."

"Next year?!" Jamie O hollered, vexed. "I don't want to wait a whole another year! That just ain't fair!" Gerald narrowed his eyes.

"'Scuse me. I'm going to go get myself a drink at a vending machine I saw back there," said Gerald jerking his thumb towards some place beyond the hospital room door. "Glad ya'll feeling better Jamie O."

Gerald stamped out of the room. Beyond the door, he paused to eavesdrop. His older brother began a tirade that lasted several minutes. Gerald rolled his eyes upwards. The tirade was likely to go on for many minutes more, so he stepped away from the door and walked down the hall briskly. Searching through his pockets, Gerald found the bill his father had given him and walked up to a vending machine. Squinting at the high prices, Gerald had second thoughts. He tucked his money back in his pocket and walked down the hallway to the water fountain instead. He stood there, the water dripping off his chin, before an odd sound broke him from his thoughts. It was the sound of a wheel almost noisily rolling towards him.

Gerald turned. But what he saw made him blink. It was a kid his own age pushing himself around in an arm-powered wheelchair.

"Huh?!" Gerald blinked. "Er, can I help you with something..."

"Blake. It's Blake," the boy said offering a hand out towards Gerald. The kid had black, spiky locks of hair that stuck up at his bangs but was long and smooth everywhere else. To be polite, Gerald shook Blake's hand. Then his eyes shifted around to either side of room as he sifted through his confusion.

"Like I said, do you need help with something?" Gerald decided to ask at length.

"Oh, no!" said Blake with a wane smile. "Although it's kind of you to ask. I was just waiting to use the water fountain after you." After another strong blink, Gerald stepped back, away from the water fountain. He bowed away from it with his hand.

"Go right ahead!" Gerald said amiably. Blake rolled right up to the low-set water fountain and began to drink. The Blake reversed his chair so that it faced Gerald.

"So why are you here?" said Blake twisting his head sideways at Gerald. "Checkup?"

"Huh? No, it's not me!" Gerald corrected the boy although it made little sense to mention anything, except to be sociable. And Gerald was sociable. "My brother had a bit of an accident. Nothing major, but my Dad and I have got to drive him home with us. I hope this doesn't go on too long," said Gerald checking his watch "I'll miss out on all the good television!"

"It doesn't hurt to get out a little," commented Blake with a brashness that grasped Gerald's attention. "Too much television can be a bad thing. Although there are some good shows. Do you like sports?"

"Yeah, I like sports," said Gerald.

"I like sports, too."

"You do?" Gerald asked, his eyes squinting at the boy in the wheelchair as if seeking for a hint that he was lying and it was all a joke of some kind.

"I really do," said Blake folding his hands calmly. "I know most people find it surprising."

"Yeah. Surprising. Surprising's a word for it." A little flustered, Gerald forced a grin. "Well, I'd better be getting going!" Gerald said goodbye politely, but as soon as he could, he rejoined his brother and father. His father helped Jamie get up from his hospital bed by lending him one hand. Jamie O scooted off the bed and stood, cradling his bandaged hand delicately.

"Man, this really bites," Jamie O reiterated.

"Just be glad you aren't in a wheelchair. Or worse!" Martin Johanssen remonstrated.

"Dad's right," said Gerald thinking back on the wheel-chair bound boy he had just met.

"Bah!" said his brother. "I still get shotgun, half-pint!"

"Both of you buckle up your seat belts, boys," Martin Johanssen scolded firmly. "Or we won't be rolling anywhere!" Soon, they all were buckled up into the car. They made their way back to their joyous little alcove of urban living- the family home. There, they were greeted. Stories were told, then there were fond kisses to all the men in the house by the mother in the family. Timberly watched all from the sidelines. They ate dinner together and all was well.

In the days that followed, Gerald thought very little of his trip to the hospital. Things had gone back to mostly normal in his life. What did come to his attention was the sound of construction at his school. He passed a bunch of carpenters hammering boards together next to the broad front steps of P.S. 118. Gerald walked cautiously in a door that was propped open, then made his way down the hall to Mr. Simmon's classroom. A very unusually broad desk was tucked into the rear of the room.

"What's going on around here?" Gerald speculated. He made that charmful, confused expression that is unique to Gerald. Then he sat down in his desk and turned to chat with Phoebe who waving waving her fingers and batting her eyelashes timidly to catch his attention.

"Class!" Mr. Simmons announced when the first class bell had rung. "I have a very exciting, very important announcement to make today." He held his hands clapped together pointed down like a reverse prayer. "Two weeks from now, we are going to be receiving a new transfer student. I hope you will all make them feel welcome!"

"A transfer student?" Gerald wondered out loud.

"Ooh!" said Sid leaning forward in his chair toward Stinky with excitement. "I hope it's a cute girl!"

But two weeks passed by swiftly. When they did, the new addition to their class definitely wasn't a female. Gerald startled when he found out the new kid to their class was someone he actually recognized.

"Hi, I've just moved to Hillwood with my family," the boy with black spiky bangs and long hair at the nape, a serene smile, and his hands rested on his lap as he sat in his wheelchair. "I'm Blake."


	2. Chapter 2

But two weeks passed by swiftly. When they did, the new addition to their class definitely wasn't a female. Gerald startled when he found out the new kid to their class was someone he actually recognized.

"Hi, I've just moved to Hillwood with my family," the boy with black spiky bangs and long hair at the nape, a serene smile, and his hands rested on his lap as he sat in his wheelchair. "I'm Blake."

Gerald was stunned. The last person on earth he would have expected to be their new classmate was the wheelchair-bound kid he had brushed into at Hillwood's hospital. But there he was- Blake, the boy with spiky black bangs and small, long hair at the nape. All Gerald knew about Blake was that he professed to like sports. Upon closer examination of the boy, Gerald saw that Blake wore basketball shoes like himself, only Blake's were a brilliant blue instead of red. But with a tsk, Gerald noted that there was hardly a scuff on these shoes. How could Blake possibly play basketball if he couldn't walk? Gerald looked down at his own basketball shoes. They were covered by scuffs and gashes from the hard games he had played on the outdoor asphalt court with Arnold and the other neighborhood boys. Gerald folded his arms together, secure in himself. He was proud of the scuffs on his shoes. It meant he was no poser.

"You play basketball, too, huh?" Gerald said with a sly, sarcastic smile as he suppressed a laugh. "We'll have to play some time. After school."

"How about 3:30 this afternoon?" Blake shot unexpectedly back. Gerald jolted.

"Yeah, I yeah. I suppose we can all do that," Gerald ended in an awkward mumble. He turned his head away to the chart of American Presidents on the wall. Mr. Simmons came forward to grasp Blake's wheelchair by its handlebars.

"Mr. Simmons? I could wheel myself to my own desk," Blake complained. "Only, there is not enough room between the desks for my chair. Do you have a solution for that?" Mr. Simmons slapped the side of his head.

"Oh, my word!" Mr. Simmons gushed. "I didn't think of that! I apologize. I am so sorry. Harold, Stinky. Could you please help me rearrange your desks so that the large desk is at the front? Thank you." After much shuffling of desks and chairs, Blake was finally able to take his seat.

"Here you go!" said Mr. Simmons taking a few things off his speaking podium. He grinned weakly, then set some school supplies on Blake's desk. "A brand new, shiny ruler for you! And some nice new notebook paper!"

"Ew, teacher's pet," Helga muttered under her breath to Phoebe before reaching into her own desk. "Well, time to welcome the new boy," said Helga reaching into a half-empty pack of straws.

"Helga," Arnold complained, seeing what she was up to. Arnold scowled slightly, irritation overcoming even his easy-going nature. "You really shouldn't…"

"What?" asked Helga, feigning innocence. Only she was not so innocent. After all, Helga did have a soda straw tucked between the her index and middle finger as she threw her hands up in a shrugging gesture. There were chortles on the other side of the room.

"I've got this," said Sid as he closed the lid of his own desk. With his strange grin, Brainy offered up several colorful paper choices. Sid choose one of the colors volunteered and tore off a strip to make into a spitwad. Soon, a colorful wad of green construction paper bounced off Blake's chair. Harold and the guys roared with riotous laughter. Mystified and slightly appalled, Blake regarded the blob of green paper.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Gerald advised his new neighbor. "Just the class's traditional way of saying hello. The guys are friendly enough if you talk to them," said Gerald leaning against the arm of his chair. "I'll introduce you."

As soon as class had ended, Gerald did just that, starting with Sid so there would be no hard feelings. Sid rattled on for many long minutes. Engaged in a story about his first pair of Beadle boots, he pumped his arms and lowered and raised himself up from the ground as if he were riding a motorbike. Stinky held his stomach, lifted up his chin and laughed at the conclusion of Sid's story, his trademark spiked cuff visible on one arm.

"Well, gee, I suppose that yarn's as good as any I have to tell about myself. Including the time I first had lemon pudding. Did I tell you like lemon pudding?" Stinky asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Well, gee, look at the time! We'd better go!" Gerald announced before sliding towards the door.

"Yes. You were going to show me the court. Three-thirty," Blake uttered with even more brass than Arnold could have mustered.

"Huh?" squeaked Gerald. "Oh yeah. The court. Well, lemma invite Arnold along. You can watch us play basketball."

"I'd like to play, too," Blake said, continuing to astonish Gerald. "You'll see," Blake ended with a smug smile.

Despite Blake's enthusiasm, there were a few places where the boys of P.S. 118 had to lift Blake's chair off the street onto the elevated sidewalk, or over patches of particularly bad terrain that his wheel chair rocked over. Gerald was still pushing Blake's chair when Arnold, Stinky, Sid, himself, and Blake all arrived at the chain-link enclosed fence where the neighborhood kids liked to play. At the far end of the court, Helga G. Pataki was just scoring a ball into the hoop, herself. Recovering the ball after it bounced twice on the pavement of the court, Helga turned herself around.

"Humph!" Helga declared. She passed the orange-red and black basketball to Harold. But then she wandered off to the side of the court, folded her arms and simply watched. Why she had appeared was anybody's best guess, but it could have been curiosity or her attraction to Arnold or both. Arnold and Gerald exchanged swift glances over Blake's head about Arnold's eternal stalker, then pressed further into the court.

"Hey, Harold," Gerald asked in a friendly manner. "Can we get in on your game? We wanted to show the new kid here how to shoot some hoops." Harold held the basketball under his arm, placed one of his hands on his belly, then laughed.

"Ha! The new kid? Shoot hoops? This I gotta see!" With a jeering smile, Harold passed the basketball to Gerald. Gerald held up the basketball in the air, offering it as softly as one might cotton candy to a child. But Blake took a firm grip of the basketball and placed it on his lap. Then he reversed his chair and spun it around.

"Thanks," said Blake with a smile. The ball still poised on his knees, he wheeled rapidly forward with his arms, then paused his chair to lift up the basketball from his lap and shoot. It went down in the hoop with a swish.

"Pretty cool," Gerald complimented, still in wonder.

"Thanks," said Blake. He rummaged for something in the pocket of his chair. From it he produced a tiny photo album. "See. I play basketball. I've played both before and after my accident. The difference is, since I use my chair, I don't dribble."

"Wow, what happened to you?" asked Gerald, transfixed by the prospect of a juicy tale.

"I'll tell you about it some time," promised Blake, his face tranquil. "It's a long story. But for now, we'd better give the lady back her basketball," said Blake gesturing toward Helga.

"Doi. Yeah, buster. Unless you've come here to play instead of jabber all day. Whadda say? Three on three? Harold, me, and Stinky against you, Arnold, and the new kid?"

"Hey, what about me?" Sid protested. He waved his arms wildly above his head.

"Sit down and shut up. Reserve."

"Okay," said Sid slouching against the red brick wall to watch the match.

Time shift! "There," Arnold said pasting a sheet of poster board next to the school's water fountain as Gerald and Blake watched. There was a giant, unfilled, fundraising thermometer on the poster. "How's it look?"

"Great!" Gerald exclaimed. Both Gerald and Arnold held their thumbs up. "My work for the student council is done here for the day. It won't be long before we have you a new water fountain, Blake! Well, actually, it may be a few years and you will have actually graduated by then, but it's the thought that counts! Maybe someday, there will be a new water fountain for anyone with a wheelchair or extremely short appendages to use! We're heroes!" Arnold, Gerald, and Blake walked out onto the front steps of the school of P.S. 118. But a long ramp had been added to one side of the stair, and the boys strolled down it.

"How is your brother doing?" Blake asked Gerald politely. Gerald scowled immediately and waved his hands up in a disgusted shrug. "Oh, he's healing up. But he's still acting like a big baby. It's embarrassing. Every day we gotta hear how he could have been a football VIP."

"Well, at least he'll be better soon," Arnold commented. As usual, the boy sought the silver lining for every situation.

"Yeah. True," Gerald quipped. "At least he's doing better than Katinka. That poor girl hasn't been back to school. How many months has it been?"

"Three," Arnold counted. "Her parents sent back a thank you card on her behalf for the cards our school sent her. But she hasn't been out of the hospital since then."

"Poor kid," said Gerald biting his fist. "Well, there isn't much else we can do for her. Her friend Big Gino will keep us posted."

"Yeah," said Arnold, not worrying about it. After all, his largest concern at the moment was the long walk home, doing his homework, eating dinner, then rushing into the boarding house living room to join Grandpa and the rest of the boarders for a film Mr. Huynh had rented. After Blake had waved goodbye to them from the back of his parent's van, Arnold spoke up suddenly.

"Hey, Gerald. Do wanna come over tonight? We're watching Raiders Labyrinth."

"Huh? Uh, sure. I'll call my mom and ask from your place."

Gerald called home and stayed for dinner. Shortly after, Arnold and Gerald sat down on the couch between Grandpa Phil and Ernie Potts. The boys accepted bowls of popcorn from Grandma Pookie just as their favorite, taco-cook extraordinaire pushed a VHS tape into the tape deck and pressed play. Arnold grinned as the declaration of "Do not infringe copyright or we will throw you in a pit of lions," warning came on, complete with graphics that made the boys squint in horror before returning to their popcorn.

The next day came swiftly enough. It looked to be a happy day for Arnold and Gerald, but when they arrived at the classroom, the mood of their usual, cheerful, exuberant class had changed.

Dum dum dum! Please wait patiently for the last chapter of this story. -Inudaughter


	3. Chapter 3

**First off, an apology. Sorry everyone. My ex has got himself back into my life and we're all chummy now. So all of my spare time and attention go to him and his spoiled golden retriever. Plus we're adopting a cat! I deeply apologize for how I've dropped off the map. I honestly say I am rueful about how little time I have for writing these days. So thank you all for following me so faithfully. I will write again as I find it in myself, but right now, I am so tired from work and the home life that my brain is all fuzz. This is not my best writing ever and so this is a reflection of all that. With love for my cherished audience, Inudaughter.**

The next day came swiftly enough. It looked to be a happy day for Arnold and Gerald, but when they arrived at the classroom, the mood of their usual, cheerful, exuberant class had changed.

"Why is everyone down in the dumps today?"

"I dunno," said Helga, her arm on one knee and her face planted in her hand as she posed, leant forward. She jiggled her foot impatiently.

"Everyone is moping like they flunked quarter exams or somethin'. The sad news doesn't even have anything to do with them. I mean, no one here even knows Katrinka."

"Katrinka?" asked Arnold, startled. Helga jerked her thumb sideways, towards one of the seats by the classroom window.

"Ask Eugene about it. He knows more than I do."

"Alright," said Arnold standing on his feet and moving over towards the redheaded boy by the window.

"Eugene?" Arnold asked softly, his voice melting its bite to something soft and sweet like honey. Eugene anticipated his question.

"Oh, hello Arnold," Eugene said without his customary smile. "You must have heard the news, huh? Is there something you'd like to add to our good-luck banner? A poem? A memory perhaps?"

"Eugene, what happened to Katrinka?" Arnold asked sitting down in the chair next to the red-haired boy.

"Oh! You haven't heard? I'm sorry to tell you this Arnold, but Katrinka is seriously ill. She is scheduled for a surgery next week. It's risky, but it's her only way of improving!" Eugene said, extending his hands outward, wrists upturned, shoulders hunched, with a gesture that spoke of acknowledgment of the bare truth. "We all are doing what we can do to encourage Katrinka and her parents. That's why we're making this neat banner, see? Her parents will pick up the banner, then take it with them when they go to be with Katrinka on her operation day."

"That's sad. But I'm glad you're doing something to help, Eugene. How is Big Gino taking it?" Arnold observed with compassion, even for a boy he really did not like.

"He's taking the week off from school to be there for the grand day of healing! Hopefully. Say Arnold, do you have a message to pass on to Katrinka? So I can write it on our banner?"

"Well. Nothing special, Eugene," said Arnold after nearly biting his index finger as he thought. His eyes slanted down as he dedicated himself to speculation with a loud "hmm".

"How about, get well soon, Katrinka?" Arnold decided after a long, dramatic pause.

"Um, Arnold, I was hoping for something a little more specific. You now, splashier! Glamorous. More personalized."

"Sheesh." said Helga, interrupting the two of them by slapping a glossy magazine page with the back of her hand to make a deliberately loud noise. "Might as well make it into one your little theatre productions," Helga rolled her eyes upwards before hiding her face behind a magazine which interested her. Tatoos Today. Just in case she wanted one herself some day. Arnold peered at the magazine cover with puzzled interest, checking then rechecking what sort of reading material Helga was using. Annoyed, Helga put the magazine down and pulled out a Stock Advisory magazine instead.

But then Gerald walked into the room, followed separately by Blake. Both boys stopped by Eugene on the way to their desks on either side of the geeky red-haired boy. They both peered down at the stretched out banner draped across Eugene's desk. Gerald spoke first.

"What's shaking Eugene? Those are some serious preparations." Gerald took the edge of the banner in his hand and felt the texture of the fabric between his fingers to test the quality. He laid the banner down with a smile of approval.

"We're all going to cheer on Katrinka, together as a class. As the fourth grade, really. Do you want to add your name and a message?"

"Sure!" quipped Gerald before taking a permanent marker from Eugene and adding scrawls to the banner. He recapped the pen before his eyes with the air of a samurai returning a ceremonial sword to its sheath. After the gentle click, Gerald stood tall and proud as he offered the pen back to Eugene to take. Phoebe clasped her hands and silently squealed in delight. Helga rolled her eyes at Gerald's flourish and flipped a page of her magazine before settling her eyes on Arnold's tufts of hair and the view of him pacifically doodling in his notebook. She sighed dreamily. Meanwhile, the red-haired boy, Eugene, leant forward in his desk chair, almost bowing to Gerald's coolness as he reclaimed his pen.

"Hey, lemme add my name to the banner, too." Blake offered gently. "Katrika might not know me, but we are still in the same grade. Can you fill me in on exactly what is happening with her?"

"Well, like I said to Arnold," Eugene explained, yet again. "Katrinka has an illness that requires surgery. But she's scared. We all need to do what we can to encourage her."

"Have you spoken with Katrinka?" Blake inquired, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh, yes!" said Eugene. "We've met in the hospital before when I was healing up from one of my accidents. But Lila and Gloria talk to her by phone sometimes. Nadine and Rhonda are friends with Katrinka, too, apparently, only they don't talk too much."

"Different circles, I guess," uttered Gerald posturing. "I'm not sure I've ever met the girl in my life. It's a good thing you're doing for her though," said Gerald with a wink. "Keep us posted on how it goes, alright?"

"What hospital is she in?" Blake asked politely.

"Brave Kids Medical. It's five hours drive from here."

"That's a good hospital," observed Blake. "I've been there before."

"You have, huh?" Gerald commented, his eyebrow lifting. "No offense, but does this have anything to do with the story of how you got yourself in a wheelchair?"

"It does," acknowledged mildly. "Why?"

"Well, Blake, my pal," said Gerald turning on his salesmanship charm. "I'm kind of curious to know. You could make good on that promise to explain it all since we're on the topic of hospitals and such."

"Well, it's a long story. How about after school?"

"Sure. Only I have baseball practice. You can come on down and watch me and the other kids play if you like, then hang out. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a plan," Blake repeated. The raven haired boy smiled mildly, happy to be accepted within the class. But Gerald's best friend was undisputably still Arnold, so Gerald turned toward to the blond-haired boy and promptly ignored Blake.

Still, when the after school hours had arrived Blake was comfortable when Eugene, Sid, and Nadine did the boy a favor by carrying his chair up onto the sidewalk to Gerald's Field. Gerald was busy practicing his best throw with Rhonda who miraculously never missed a practice. Second to Helga, Rhonda was easily the best female athlete of their school. Beyond the line of Gerald and Rhonda's practice zone, Arnold and Helga were standing by first base, arguing again. At first the quarrel was too quiet to hear, but as Blake's wheelchair got closer, he could make out the voices of the two.

Helga waved her hands wildly in short, rapid strokes. "What do I want?" she muttered in a matter-of-fact tone. "What does any girl want? To know if you're repeating speeches of others you can not comprehend." said Helga pointing accusingly with her finger. "You like to preach, Arnold. Is that all a reflection of who you are, or are you just an imitation of someone you admire?" Helga lay a fierce, observing eye on Arnold as if trying to discern if he were a fake ming dynasty vase. She turned her back, cross her arms, and humphed.

"That's not fair, Helga!" Arnold objected, his eyes cross. "I'm not trying to insult you. I just think that you should… Oh, hi Blake," Arnold ended softly. "We were just…"

"They're always like that," Gerald whispered to Blake. "I pity the boy. He's found his ball and chain already."

"What are you two talking about?" Helga cut in shrilly.

"Nothing," Gerald answered with a fake grin, his hands tucked behind his back. He rolled his eyes backwards, then coughed. "Yeah, we just love baseball, don't we Blake?"

"Can I have a go as pitcher?" Blake piped up. Everyone stared at Blake as they considered the idea.

"I don't see why not," Gerald answered for the group at last. Helga lowered her face mask over her head and stalked a few steps to squat just behind the home plate. Then she pounded her fist into her glove.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," she demanded. Arnold gave a relieved whoof, smiled, then took his place as shortstop. They played a brief, rapid game of baseball with Blake included for a few minutes. Afterwards, Arnold and Gerald snuck off to the bleachers to laugh and talk and complain about Helga, doing their thumbshake thing. Blake wheeled himself closer.

"Hey," Gerald shouted across the field from the bleachers with a smile. "You wanna go over to Slaussens to talk? Just us men?"

"I would," said Blake, smiling. Behind him, Sid pushed Blake's chair.

"Ooh, ooh! Who wants to buy me some icecream?" the boy danced, enthused.

"I guess we'll put in to cover your tab, just this once," Gerald said cleverly before swinging his finger at Sid. "Push the chair."

"Yes, sir!" said Sid dancing at the thought of icecream.

Things did not seem excitingly different at P.S. 118 for a time. Then, Mr. Simmons came into the classroom an unusual five minutes late. "Class, class!" sang their balding teacher as he flung open the door, one hand on the half-turned doorknob. "Come with me outside. Today, we have a very special meeting and a field trip to Lark Park."

"Lark Park," said Gerald his squinting one eye. "What's the appeal of going there? Didn't we find all the nature it had to offer last year? Plus a couple of steel-rimmed tires."

"Oh, this is not a nature-study Gerald," voiced Mr. Simmons with unusual graveness. "This is special event. We are going to go and meet Katrinka's parents. Eugene, do you have the banner?"

"Right here!" said the boy tripping onto the floor and dropping the rolled flag. Stinky picked it up to carry for him.

"Rhonda do you have the bouquet of flowers?"

"Right here, Mr. Simmons!" chirped Rhonda. Harold batted at the flowers which she had swung right into his face.

"Get 'em away, get 'em away! They're stinky!" complained Harold rubbing his nose.

"Aw, nonsense Harold!" Rhonda countered. "They smell magnifique!" Rhonda batted her eyes a few times, her fingertips spread against her chest as she popped up her heel.

Harold sneezed, then muttered under his breath.

The class then followed Mr. Simmons out of the school building. In the schoolyard they met up with the teacher from the classroom across the hall and all her students. Together, the entire grade stumbled into the park very near to their school. They passed the monkey bars and its accompanying pit of sand. Instead of going to the children's area, they headed for two benches and a patch of trees. On one of the park benches sat a middle-aged couple- a man and his wife. These two clung to one another at their class' approach.

Curiously, Sheena had brought along her cello in its music case. This, she laid down on a park bench. She cracked the case open and held her instrument wordlessly, string-bow poised and ready to begin playing it at any moment. Mr. Simmons greeted the older middle-aged couple who were seated on the the second park bench.

"Hello? Mr. and Mrs. Dalia? We're here to give you our best wishes for you and your daughter. She is a dear classmate and is missed," explained Mr. Simmons nobly. "Sheena?"

At Mr. Simmon's cue, Sheena played a low, not too sad but a little moody song. Fortunately for Arnold, her cello skills had improved somewhat over the last year.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dalia? This is for your family," Mr. Simmons explained as he and Stinky Peterson unfurled the the banner the entire grade had scribbled on. Then he rerolled the banner and handed it almost regally to the father. Rhonda trotted up the mother next and handed her the flowers.

"I picked them myself. I have elegant taste," Rhonda could not resist saying. Katrinka's mother clutched the bouquet close to her chest.

"Thank you," she uttered.

"Tell Katrinka we send her our best wishes," Katrinka's homeroom teacher demanded, adjusting her sharp-rimmed spectacles.

"We will," her father answered.

"How about a big hug everybody?!" Eugene hollered. He stumbled five steps forward then tripped on his own sandals and fell down in front of the couple. The wife looked down at Eugene.

"Do you recognize that boy, honey?" the mother asked.

"Yeah. After that tumble, I do," said the father still looking down at Eugene before the boy leapt up and gave the two a warm hug. But they smiled.

"Thank you for Katrinka's sake. And ours," they said still smiling. Soon they left the park, carrying the banner away. Sheena struck up a happy, wishful tune. Every waved and shouted good luck. Gerald spoke a few casual words with Arnold, with Helga lurking behind, openly eavesdropping on every word. Then Gerald turned to Blake.

"Is there something the matter, friend?" asked Gerald. "You look particularly bummed."

"No," Blake answered simply. "I'm just… thinking hard. I remember my own days not knowing what the future will bring. Not being who I was before. It makes me wonder what might have been if I hadn't been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But accidents happen. My life may be different now. But... I'm still here. There's a lot of life left for me to accomplish, and I look forward to experiencing all of it," said Blake with a smile.

"I'm proud of you man," Gerald declared with sincere reverence. "I'm touched. But you can talk about it anytime you need. Just so you know."

"Oh, yeah!" said Blake, a sudden revelation occurring to him. "We were having such a good time at Slaussen's I forget to tell you all that story."

"Our story?"

"Not my story," said Blake with a firm smile. "A story. I have a lot of them to tell!" Blake looked towards Mr. Simmons, who was shooing the class back to school. "But I hope there is a happy resolution for Katrinka," Blake said, his smile turning to a frown.

"Yeah, me too, man," Gerald quietly agreed.

"The best thing we can do now is to think positive! We'll keep wishing good wishes for her swift recovery," Eugene interjected, still dancing on his sandaled feet.

"Mm," Gerald murmured softly before they got back to the normal schedule of things.

There was nothing the class could do but wait. On one afternoon filled with the lazy lounging around of idle youth, many of the boys from Mr. Simmons class walked by Hillwood Cemetery. Through the broad iron gates, they could see the grass and tomb-stone strewn area.

"Say," Stinky Peterson flustered. "Isn't that a new grave way out yonder in the boneyard?"

"Lemme see, lemme see!" Sid blurted out trying to peer around his taller, lanky friend. They both squinted.

"Dang, can't see nothin' from here!" Stinky Peterson lamented. "You figure it's Katrinka?"

"Pft. No it's not," Arnold disagreed firmly, his skeptical side coming out full force in his tone.

"No, it is, it is, it is! Probably," Harold blurted. He waved his fists around up and down in earnest before calming. It was an established tradition among the boys now. To find out which one of them had the most guts. And it was Arnold whose daring had grown disproportionate to his height. With devil-may-care, it was him who did not flinch to stride towards the cemetery gates. If Helga had been there to see him, she would have sighed anew with heart-throbbed delight.

"Augh. I'll find out," Arnold explained himself wearily as he trod towards the gates as the other boys cowered behind him. Arnold entered the cemetery. He walked until he neared the newest stone monument. He approached it cautiously. But he found a name very different from Katrinka's. Arnold's eyelids lowered in disgust.

"See? I told you." Arnold blurted out loud even though the other boys were likely still too far away on the other side of the fence to hear. Then he looked over toward his friends Stinky, Sid, and Harold to find Helga had joined them. The girl looked hunched over and grumpy. But the first dare had made him brash.

"Hey Helga," Arnold commented. Then making his second dare for the day, he brushed two of his fingers across the back of Helga's hand. She stiffened and corrected her posture so that she was no longer hunched. In fact, she seemed to lean a tiny bit backwards before she took a tiny, tender step back.

"Whaaa...wha...wha are you doing out here, Arnoldo?" Helga questioned. "There are fun things to see and do! What, you envy to be an historian or somethin'?"

"Nah," said Arnold shaking his head negative.

"It wasn't Katrinka's grave or nothin?" Stinky piped up.

"No, it wasn't Stinky," Arnold affirmed.

"Shoot. Well, let's all get us some snacks then!" Stinky Peterson muttered. The boys and Helga all moved on to find something more interesting to do.

Elsewhere in Hillwood, Gerald was shopping with his father and brother Jameo. A video rental store nearby was filled with posters for films mean to enthuse him. But Gerald had seen all those films posted. Twice. So he stood by the counter waiting with a bored, half-lidded stare, one movie to rent in his hand. He pulled his head up in mild surprise when his eyes fell on Blake propelling his wheelchair through the wide aisles of the store.

"Blake?" Gerald inquired, holding his head up as his eyes re-confirmed what he was looking at. The new school friend was pulling down a small selection of videos to stack on his lap. "What's up, man?"

"Oh, I'm preparing for family night," said Blake.

"Me, too," Gerald said with a small smile. "I got an action flick myself. But mother is probably going to make us watch one of those nature documentaries." Gerald shuttered. "Funny thing, my best friend likes those, too."

"Yeah?" commented Blake. "Well, I've got an alien invader movie and an old black and white classic. I'm curious. Have you ever seen these two?" Gerald took the movie box from Blake's hand. Then he nodded his head in assent.

"The first one, yeah, yeah!" the boy said before rambling on some details. Blake took down a new box from the shelf and looked at it sadly. "This reminds me of the day the accident occurred. I had picked this film out for movie night," said Blake showing Gerald face of the movie box. There were cartoon characters on the paper print used to decorate the hard plastic cover. Gerald squinted at the box. Then, looking at Blake's sad face, he gently pressed Blake's hand down and took the movie box away from him to set it on the shelf.

"So you were caught up in the bad news headline for the local newsprint. It's not your fault, man. The whole world is full of dangerous places. Half the time, I'm scared for my life when I walk out the door of J-Mart," said Gerald posturing as if terrified. "Some of the drivers here here are unbelievable. For example, there's this crazy cat lady who lives nearby Phoebe's place. She drives so bad it makes a grown man shudder. I've seen people with shopping carts dive out of her way more than a few times. Then there's Arnold's grandparents. Or my brother with his street-legal dragster. But especially Arnold's grandparents. Better to stick to the sidewalks."

"I can just see that in my head," said Blake with a small smile working its way back onto his face. "But it makes me wonder how Katrinka is doing. Being in the hospital is not the most enjoyable thing to do with one's time. I hope she is getting better."

"Well," said Gerald thinking. "We could call up Arnold's homie, Eugene. He might know. Look, write me down your number and I'll call Eugene to have him call you." The agreement was made, and soon Balke was sitting down at his home enjoying movie night with his family when the phone rang. Blake excused himself to answer the phone himself. He put the receiver to his ear and listened.

"Oh, she's not doing well? She hasn't had the surgery yet? Why not? She's scared? Oh." Blake frowned. "Eugene. Could you do me a favor? I'd like to call Katinka myself. Is there a way I can get in contact with her? Okay. Alright. Thanks. Goodbye." Blake finished writing down a note on a memo pad. Then he rolled himself back into the living room, a grim look on his face until his mother handed him a bowl of popcorn. "Thanks," said Blake smiling again.

It was not long before, at a hospital far away, the elevator doors rolled open and Blake rolled out. His parents walked out the elevator behind Blake and he smiled at them. "Thanks, mom. Dad. I won't be long."

"We'll read some magazines, son," said his father before settling himself on the sofa of a waiting room. Blake rolled himself down the hall. At the far end of the hall, he knocked on the door to the room. A small, scared voice answered.

"Hello?" came the voice of a frightened girl. Katrinka peeked out from beneath her bedcovers.

"Hi. Katrinka? I'm Blake. We talked on the phone?"

"Oh. Yeah," said Katrinka, still hiding beneath her covers. "At least you're not a nurse. Every one of them wants me to have the surgery."

"Do you want to have the surgery?" asked Blake.

"No, I'm scared," mumbled Katrinka hiding her nose beneath her bedcovers again although Blake could see her eyes looking at him.

"Do you want to get better?" Blake asked with simple honesty much like Arnold's.

"Yes. I do."

"Then you have to give the staff at the hospital that chance," Blake answered after a long, deep breath. "You have to give them that chance to help you get better."

"But what if I don't?"

"You don't know that unless you've tried. We can hope. You'll have to have trust in that hope."

"Have you ever been in the hospital before?" asked Katrinka dropping the covers to peek at Blake's wheelchair. She pointed to it.

"Yes, I have," said Blake. "I've spent a lot of time in it. I've had a lot of surgeries, too. I will tell you that it can be scary. And I know that there are limits to what they can do for me. I will never be out of a wheelchair. But you know what? I've found lots of ways to enjoy life and to be happy even if I have some difficulties to overcome. And facing things that frightened me have made me earn courage."

"Courage?" Mimicked Katrinka. Blake smiled and rested his hands against the wheels of his chair. "Your classmates all miss you," said Blake remembering things Eugene had told him. "Especially Gloria."

"Yeah?" Gloria smiled. "I would be fun to go back to school again," said Gloria. "To be with my friends."

"Yeah, it would." Blake agreed, smiling back. Behind the two of them, Katrinka's two parents stood. Clung together, they had eavesdropped on the conversation. They both looked at one another and smiled as Katrinka spoke happily to her new friend.

Arnold and Gerald were walking to school one day when they passed by Big Gino and his thuggish friends making a mess of confetti form poppers everywhere. A few of the thugs were dancing and Gino was passing soda all around.

"Er, what's going on?" Arnold speculated watching the crowd.

"Keep on walking!" Gerald advised, his schoolbook under his arm. Arnold followed suit. Soon they both made it through the door to P.S. 118. There was a new banner draped in the hall. It read, "Welcome Back Katrinka."

"Isn't is great?" asked Eugene as he finished hanging up the the banner right before he fell off the ladder he was standing on. (It really is hard to turn around backwards when standing on the top of a ladder.)

"I'm okay!" said Eugene plucking himself up from where he had fallen onto some other, very annoyed kid. Arnold helped him to his feet with one hand. "Katrinka is, too. She had her surgery after all. And you what? It was a success! Enough to make her well enough to come back to school, anyway."

"Well, I'm glad things turned out well," said Arnold with a small turn off his head towards Eugene and his ladder. But then his head turned slightly towards the open door of his home classroom where sure enough, Helga was waiting just beyond the door in a spot where she could spot him coming. Helga's eyes met Arnold's for a brief moment. Then freezing, she whirled her back towards Arnold so that her nerves would not be charged by his green-eyed stare. Cool and indifferent. That is how she tried to play. Inwardly, Arnold shrugged Helga's odd, rapidly shifting behavior off. Mr. Simmon's class all settled down into their customary seats, with Helga's seat right behind Arnold's as he stared blankly into his math textbook.

But across the hall, Katrinka peeked out of the classroom. Her eyes scanned the hall. Then Katrinka smiled as Blake wheeled himself up to her.

"Thank you, Blake." Katrinka spoke, clasping one of Blake's hands in her grip. Her eyes twinkled with gratitude.

"I'm happy to have helped!" the boy said with a peaceful smile. The smile of a pure intentioned heart is a beautiful thing. The end.

 **Thank you all for your readership and patience.**


End file.
